Critical, I've been so critical lately. Both inwardly and outwardly I've been criticizing everything and repeating the phrase, "I need to do this; you shouldn't do this; if only they would do it this way." What is wrong with me? Where is grace? Where is patience? How did I go on about this and miss it? Perhaps you haven't seen it, but I am painfully aware of it (and so is my husband!)

I think it might have something to do with want. We all want something don't we? We want skinnier bodies, more money, more discipline in prayer, the answers to life's problems; we seek affirmation from people by looking polished, "having it all together," saying all the right things, paying attention to all the "right" people, even if "for the sake of the Kingdom." But we want. 

At dinner tonight I found myself saying, "Uh, that's so lame, why would they want to have this big festival with a bunch of concerts. It's just going to attract a bunch of Christians. People don't meet Jesus through flashy shows; they meet him in the face and lives of others." Now, I know this blanket statement can't be true; I'm sure lots of people can say they were moved to know Jesus because of a concert, a festival, a crusade. But I'm thinking of how Jesus moved and affected people. There were some crowds we hear about, and maybe they left some of the stories of other crowds out, but there sure are a lot of one-on-one encounters. Quiet, intense encounters, that left a life changed. Did they all give it up and follow Jesus? We can't know. But I know from my measly 23 years of life lived that when eyes meet, when laughter escapes, when bodies are embraced in lingering hugs, something happens... something that can't be replicated from a stage and a sinner's prayer.

But I rambled.

I still can't say such strong words as "can't" and "won't" because God can and does use anything to make his name known, to nudge a person's heart, to waken something in their spirit that might not have been stirred otherwise. I just want things my way; I want my opinions and theologies to be true and correct.

Alas, I shall ask, "but what do you want of me, Lord?"

Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory... (Psalm 115:1)

||

This week in particular has reminded me of some of the things I love most about the South, some of which are only relevant in the DEEP South where I come from. And since I don't write about "light" things very often, here goes...

Things I love about my South.

1. the way the city shuts down with the prediction of ice/snow that never actually comes...

2. sweet tea

3. cheese grits

4. pool swimming season lasts from May - September (at least)

5. sweet tea

6. New Orleans cuisine

7. two days out of school for Mardi Gras holidays

8. the ability to wear skirts at random points throughout the winter

9. no need for snow tires

10. sweet tea

11. southern accents

12. southern belles (like the sweet lady at our last church who sounded like Blanche Devereaux from the Golden Girls, but with much better morals.)

13. sweet tea

I'm constantly dreaming of places to move, all of which are NOT in the South, claiming that I can't stand the heat, that I want to meet people who follow Jesus instead of just claiming him, and that I want to hike and whitewater raft more. And those things are true, and those dreams keep dreaming, but you know, my South is home and you just can't get good sweet tea anywhere else, that's for dang sure.

_________________________

Wishing you that joy and peace that came when the Word became flesh....

We've been waiting for so long to see them, to sing songs, to laugh hardily, to see the beautiful color of their eyes. And it's finally here. What's better is we get to share them with matthew clark AND my parents--the whole Family, together for Thanksgiving, a time to be especially thankful and reminded of everything, even the small things.

Aislinn and Matt will be here so soon; we haven't seen them in a year. Our soul-friends, you could call them, ones we miss every single day of our lives, but they're finally here!

AND we're in the North Carolina mountains! too much, too much!

We've already been sharing so much of our lives. We made a stop in Knoxville, met some new friends, crashed on their futon and floor, ate crumpets and sipped coffee and shared about life and love and the Church and all the things that sound so cliche on a blog, but are so rich and meaningful when shared on the living room floor of a duplex in the foothills.

We were made for relationship; this is it. This is beauty at its beautifulness-est.

We love this Family!

"Sharing is caring..."

You must have sung this song as a child. I'm not sure the rest of the words, but I've got a hint of a tune in my head that goes along with this phrase, and I am singing it in my head just now...

Sharing is caring.

But sharing sure does freak people out these days. "You let someone else drive your car?" I do, after all, have such a deep affection for this chunk of metal sitting in the driveway. "You actually want to live with other people? I could never..." No, I could never live with people; why on earth would I do that? "You put all your money in a common fund? Never."

We don't do all these things, and even if we do, it probably doesn't look exactly how you'd imagine, but then again, some of these we do. I'm awed at the extreme sense of ownership of every tiny detail of our lives--down to the very thing that was given to us freely--our salvation. It's my car, my house, my money, my church, and my worship service. "It's just me and Jesus!"

Mine, mine, mine.

Sharing is caring.

One can't blame another for having this ownership over things; it is the center of American culture. Get a good degree so you can have a good job and buy lots of things. You will have complete control over your life when you have enough money to live where you want, have what you want, at any time you want.

But my friends, I'll tell you, in my measley experience that sharing is caring, even when your hands have to be pried off of that which you prized so dearly. Once it's out of your hands, you never realized how good it felt to loosen that grip and wiggle those fingers.

So loosen your grip and wiggle your fingers.

busyness

I can't decide if busyness is good or bad. I know it depends on what kind of busyness, but in general, regardless of whether it was for the good or not, I find myself exhausted in the aftermath, wishing I had sat across the table from more friends, cooked more meals, read more books to children, and read more books of my own. I don't mind all busy days--they often are filled with good, meaningful things. But when you start to feel like your life is one whirlwind... that's hard.

So once again, my obsession with labeling everything right or wrong/good or bad has failed. But I'm glad tomorrow isn't busy!

//

Halloween today. We're going to a "no costume, no entry" party, so we've got to find something homemade (and cheesy, preferably) to be before 7pm tonight. Before that, though, I get to hang out with kids from other parts of the world, which is going to be a b-l-a-s-t! Cam (from Refugee Empowerment Program) asked me if I'd like to help take kids to the children's carnival at 2nd Presbyterian Church, and I am totally in. Fun times will be had...

//

If you're interested, here's what I'm reading: "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver; and "Freedom of Simplicity" by Richard Foster. We're gearing up for a community garden in the Spring, all-organic (or as close as you can possibly, technically, be "all organic") and the sheer simplicity that comes with that. You might not think tilling the soil and tending the veggies is easy, but we know simple and easy are not the same. What's more simple than this? Plant it, take care of it, watch is grow, eat it. God designed some beautiful things, and producing fruit from the earth is one of them.

Oh and today is one of the other most beautiful things...

the first anniversary

Well, the one year wedding anniversary is behind us, but another is approaching: One year since I inquired about this job. I have an email dating 11/27/07, the day I received the full job description for Missions Associate at Christ United Methodist Church. One year since my prayer time was lengthened, and my stomach in knots over the decision at hand. One year since I began imagining (sadly) my life without Court Street. One year since I began preparing myself to say goodbye to Hattiesburg.

One year goes by so fast.

We sat in front of Andrew Peterson last night, listening to him share stories of newness and resurrection; He [God] really does make all things new. Gives us new songs to sing, new cities in which to call home, new friends to take care of (and to be taken care of by them).... all of these make up the new seasons of life.

I am amazed at the spoiled, selfish girl I can be. Some days it's all I can do to not imagine myself anywhere but here. The mountains of North Carolina. A home with Matt and Aislinn. Or even no place to call home but a travel trailer, guitar, and the open road with Jeff, Matthew, and Brian. Other days I am so sure that this season in Memphis is full and good and purposeful. Does everyone else find themselves feeling this way, that I somehow "deserve" to live in the mountains or something? What of those who are trapped in lives of abuse and poverty and misery? Or do I imagine their lives are misery? Have they discovered an even deeper understanding of fullness because of their circumstances?

This is just my stream of thoughts.

I was driving to Tupelo last night, and though we may not have the Autumn that other places do, our trees are in fact looking lovlier by the day as they change colors. Slowly but surely, just as our lives change.

There must be death in order to be life.

The seasons must change.

The jobs must end, and another begin.

He did not even spare himself.

Yes, there must be death in order to be life.

what we once called home

This is it, the place I used to call home. We're in Waynesboro, visiting the 'rents, old friends, and the Family I'll never forget and never, ever replace. Yes, the Spiritual Warriors, as we've forever dubbed ourselves. My youth group from First United Methodist Church in Waynesboro. We weren't just a youth group, we were most suredly a family. We reminisced over lunch at Robinson St. together (where I highly recommend the gravy fries and chicken salad sandwich) about all the things that make Jeff insanely bored and out-of-place but like an enduring spouse, he.... endured.

It's good to be here with them, good to see them carrying on and living well and being faithful to the One.

But still, I know, that once you've left, it's hard to come back. Would we make it after being gone to Memphis? Could anyone take in our opinions and the way we dress and Jeff's love for imported beers (always in moderation, of course). I'm afraid we might be dubbed as too different... and for this, I just smile and consider myself very blessed to have grown up in such a safe place with loving people in the Family of God. But as Sara sings it (always so well)...

the places that used to fit me
cannot hold the things I've learned
and those roads were closed off to me
while my back was turned. [sara groves]

Still it's so good to be back....